I’m baaaaack, bitches!

Did you get pissed drunk and wake up with sketchy individuals in bed next to you, or your face plastered to the toilet bowl?

Yes, I missed you too, but work called, and off I want to… well, I’ll let you guys guess where I was this time.

Care to take a guess where this is?

My trip this week went something like this.

Tuesday: go to the office dressed in torn jeans and an Army hoodie. Take care of last minute crap. Leave for the airport.

Arrive at airport, get hugged by an elderly lady and thanked for my service. Stand in security line for 45 minutes while TSA monkeys stare incompetently at my backpack and swab my ankle brace lest I am carrying Semtex inside. Board British Airways flight to Heathrow. Deal with screeching, but very cute, child the entire way.

Wednesday: Get to London and discover my connecting flight to my final destination is canceled. The only available flight is either at 1700 hours that evening, which would have had me stranded at Heathrow the entire day, and forced me to miss an evening function I was supposed to be attending, or a Lufthansa flight to first Frankfurt, and then my final destination, which would have put me there relatively early, but still have allowed me to shower and rest before the evening’s event.

Get booked on the Lufthansa flight. Have breakfast with a guy I met at the airport, who was also screwed by the BA flight cancellation. Discover the Lufthansa flight is an hour delayed.

Check in with Lufthansa, get assured the flights from Frankfurt will be delayed as well, so no need to worry because of the delay.

Flight leaves Heathrow an hour and a half late, causing us to miss connecting flight to final destination. We get told we are rebooked on the next available flight… at 1700 hours, leaving us stranded at Frankfurt’s Terminal 1 for four hours (if you know anything about Terminal 1, you feel my pain, as there’s literally nothing there – it’s deserted, save for a shop and a cafe).

As a funny aside, I discovered that when German flight crews apologize for delays due to “fog in London,” they sound like they’re apologizing for delays due to “fuckin’ London.” It took three times for me to figure out that they weren’t cursing Heathrow.

Get to final destination late. Think about going to the function. Decide not to in favor of bath, room service, and sleep.

Thursday: Attend planned work conference all day.

Thursday night: Hike around with colleagues. Take a few photos. Sleep.

I made a new friend

Friday: Get to airport. Discover that British Airways flight to Heathrow is delayed, but fortunately not enough to make me miss connecting flight back to DC – just long enough to make me annoyed at having to sit in airport.

Friday afternoon: Get to Heathrow, meet up with close friend who lives in London, drink until boarding time.

By the way, I got back to read this whining complaint by a self-described “fat person” about how fat people are being discriminated against by Hawaiian Airlines because the airline has chosen to select sears for the customers to better distribute the weight in the aircraft. Apparently, fat people’s plight just went from awful and dehumanizing to even more horrible!

If it’s not the glares and stares from people praying you don’t sit next to them, it’s the eye rolls when you tell them, “I’ve got the middle seat” or the loud sighs when you put the armrest up just to get a little relief. It’s the anxious feeling you get when you need to ask for a seat belt extender. And it’s your neighbor’s flat-out aggressive commentary about the lack of personal space that results from sitting next to you.

I’ll be the first to admit that flying sucks. The seats are already small and uncomfortable, and not being able to choose where you sit will make it even more so.

But let me address something here, as a person who is not fat, but certainly not stick skinny – a person who fits into the seat and doesn’t need a belt extender.

I just paid more than $1000 for a seat on a transatlantic flight. The person next to me ostensibly paid a similar price for a seat. A SEAT. They don’t quite fit into said seat, because they’re huge, so they try to lift the armrest, as this woman whines, for a “little relief.” This leaves me with half a seat, and the fat person with a seat and a half. This leaves me hanging into the aisle, being hit by the flight attendants, or worse, their meal carts, and told to sit in my seat, where there’s literally no room, because the fat person’s idea of getting “a little relief” is taking up their seat and half of mine, for which I paid the same as they did.

Is that fair to me? No. It’s a 7-8 hour discomfort and sometimes outright pain of having to contort myself to accommodate the person who ostensibly paid for one seat, but has now taken up more than that.

Am I supposed to suffer because the fat person feels “dehumanized?”

No matter what the reason for your weight issues, you do not have the right to make others suffer because it’s ostensibly not your fault that you are overweight. You do not have the right to more space at others’ expense because you ostensibly are a victim.

For anyone who has literally been squished against a wall, been forced to hang into the aisle, or had to sit in a stressor position, with your legs crossed and falling asleep, leaning on one butt cheek, because the fat person next to you needs a “little relief,” a lengthy flight is torture – a physical torture that’s more painful than a fat person’s feelz because someone rolled their eyes at the prospect of sitting next to them.

If you take up more than one seat, buy more than one seat. Then we all win.

So, can those of you who don’t already know from social media guess where I’ve been this week?